CHAPTER XXV

THE DANCE AT THE SCHOOLHOUSE

The weeks went by. Haying time came and all hands were busy cutting, hauling and stacking. The winter had been one of heavy snows, and water was plentiful in the irrigating ditches. Rains had been more frequent than usual that spring and summer, and in many a little meadow, too small for fencing, there was a growth of grass worth cutting. One of the labors of the summer about which the men growled bitterly was the never-ending work of keeping the range cattle away from these little unfenced pieces, in order to protect the growing grass. The cattle returned again and again to these patches of fresh green grass, and the men were forced to exercise constant vigilance to keep them off the meadows.

At last the haying was over. The stacks were all protected from the wind and carefully fenced against ravages of the range stock. Now the nights were growing shorter and cooler; sometimes there was a frost, with a skim of ice. The leaves of the aspens began to turn yellow. Down on the lake the broods of young ducks which had been reared there were gradually being added to by the arrivals of early migrants from the north. The last time Jack and Donald went out on the mountains for fresh meat for the house, they had killed a bull elk whose horns, though still wearing the velvet, were full-grown and hard, and the animal was fat. September was at hand, and before many days Jack would be obliged to turn his face eastward and get back to college and work.

"Well, boys," Mr. Sturgis said one morning at breakfast, "it's about time for us to gather our beef and start it in to the railroad. We ought to find it all pretty close at home, and I hope we can begin to-morrow, and gather it and take it to the railroad in short order."

The day was devoted to getting up the horses and preparing the wagon for the short trip, for early the next morning they were to start for a little stream twelve or fifteen miles away, where there was a corral and a good camping place. Hugh had declared that on this trip he would drive the team and would cook, and Jack, Donald, Jack Mason, Rube and Mr. Sturgis were to gather the beef.

Donald, who had become reasonably skilful with the rope and at home on a cow horse, declared that if Hugh could cook he could wrangle the horses, and that he would do that in addition to his riding. It was not likely that there would be any night herding to be done. The beeves, as they were cut out in considerable bunches, could be sent back to the ranch and held in the pasture for a short time; while the horse bunch would be likely to stay with the old bell mare that most of them knew so well.

Long before sunrise, the riders set out, traveling to the northeast, intending to ride circle of the basin and to turn in toward the camp all the cattle found. These could be turned loose again after the beef had been cut out; and possibly there would be time for another circle to the south, when more cattle could be brought in the same night or the next morning; when again the beef would be cut out, and the cows and young stock turned loose.

Not long after the riders had gone, Hugh climbed into the wagon and, chirruping to his team, soon disappeared down the valley.

It was a fine morning for riding, and all the men felt its invigorating influence. The air was keen but dry, a light breeze just stirred the tops of the sage and the taller grass stems, and from the bushes everywhere sounded the sweet, melancholy, autumn whistle of the meadow-lark.

Few cattle were found as the riders went north, but as soon as they turned east and south they came on frequent groups, brought in not long before from the round-up. The cattle were fat and logy, and the work of pushing them along was slow, so that not nearly so much ground was covered, nor so much accomplished as had been hoped. Nevertheless, it was a respectable bunch of cattle that was driven up that afternoon near the wagon, where the work of cutting began.

Some years before, Mr. Sturgis had built near this place a large and stout corral of poles hauled from the mountains, and it was in this that the beeves were to be put and held, until enough had been brought together to drive up to the ranch.

The work of cutting went on rapidly, and before night all the steers fit to ship had been put in the corral. Then two of the men set out and drove the cows and the young stock up toward the mountains, throwing them back as far as possible on to the ground from which they had been brought that morning. This would leave the country to be ridden the next day free from cattle until they started to make their circle and would meet an entirely new lot. The steers were to be held in the corral until morning, when two of the men would take them back to the ranch and throw them into the pasture. While that was being done--for the next twenty-four hours--there would be only three men to ride and cut, instead of five, but Hugh said that he would help.

Long before daylight the next morning, Rube and Donald set out for the ranch with the steers. The animals were hungry and thirsty. At first the work of driving them was slow, but as the sun rose and the heat increased the steers traveled faster, for most of them, knowing the range, knew also that water was to be found six or eight miles ahead, and they were anxious for water. After they had drunk, driving was again slow; but in the afternoon they reached the ranch, where with Joe's help the cattle were put in the big pasture. After a bite to eat, the men started back to the wagon, and reached it some time after dark.

Here they found that, notwithstanding the shortness of riders, another good gather of cattle had been made, and again there was a corral full of beef. These Mr. Sturgis declared might as well wait there for a day, when it was hoped that the rest of the country would be covered, the beef cut out, and the whole herd taken to the ranch, to be sent to the railroad a few days later for shipment.

So it turned out. By evening the whole Basin had been rounded up, all the beef it was desired to ship turned into the corral, and the round-up outfit was ready to start back. On the gather there had been little that was exciting, but an abundance of hard work, although there had been no riding night herd, for which the boys were devoutly thankful.

The return to the ranch was deliberate, and it took them two days to get there. The beeves were driven a short distance in the early morning and allowed to feed and rest, and then another short drive in the afternoon completed the day's travel; but the steers were herded at night, and because of the small number of men the tours of duty were long--instead of three reliefs there was only one. However, this was for a single night only.

For two weeks the beef was left in the pasture and in this time regained whatever weight it had lost in the round-up. The men who from time to time rode into the pasture and around among the cattle were proud of their quality--it was certainly a bunch to bring joy to its owner.

At length Mr. Sturgis received word that in three days the cars for his shipment would be on the railroad siding, and the beef was started to town. The journey was unmarked by any special incident; but the herd had not been long on the road before it was learned that another bunch of beef was also on the way to the railroad and would reach there about the same time as Mr. Sturgis' cattle. This was important news, for it was not certain that the loading corrals were large enough to hold many more cattle than those in Mr. Sturgis' gather, and if the other people should by any chance get first to the railroad and occupy the corrals, the matter might be a serious one, as there was no feed for the cattle within six or eight miles of the town.

That night Mr. Sturgis asked Jack to ride over the next morning to where the other cattle were being driven, and find out definitely whose they were, how many, and when they expected to ship. Meantime the Sturgis beeves would be driven on to the railroad; but if there should be any likelihood that for any cause the shipment would be delayed, the cattle would be turned off the road before the town was reached, and held until it was possible to see what should be done.

It was late that night when Jack returned to the camp, and as soon as he had turned out his horse he went to his uncle.

"It was a false alarm," he reported; "the cattle that are coming are Mr. Powell's, and there are only about one hundred of them. He has ordered cars and hopes to ship with you. He and Charley were proposing to go on to Chicago with the cattle, and to help with ours as well as theirs. That will make four or five men to the train."

"We shall certainly be glad to have the help of those extra men," said Mr. Sturgis. "I've been wondering what we were going to do. There ought to be at least four men with these cattle; and six would be better. I may have to get Rube and Mason and Hugh to go; but Hugh is getting a little bit old for work of that kind."

"I'd like to go," said Jack, "but I must get back, I suppose. I've lost too much time, as it is. I can help load, but then I must take the passenger. Another thing; I hear there is going to be a dance in town two nights from now. Charley Powell brought the news when he came out the other day, and Mrs. Powell and Bess are with the Powell outfit, going to the dance."

"I suppose likely the whole country will be there. What do you know about the Claib Wood and Mason trouble, Jack? Is that likely to be renewed when we get into town? I don't think Mason is likely to make any trouble; but Wood has rather a bad name. Suppose you speak to Mason about it before we get in, and I'll try to find Wood there and we'll see if we can't stop, or at least postpone, any renewal of this quarrel."

Two days later the beeves were in the loading corrals, but the promised cars had not yet made their appearance. Mr. Sturgis, knowing of old the uncertainties of railroad promises, had provided against such a contingency by arranging for a lot of hay, and the beeves were fed that night and were to be fed again the next morning. It was hoped that during the night the cars would come. Powell's cattle came in a little later than the Sturgis herd, and they also had to be fed, and fed with Mr. Sturgis' hay. The next day, if it were not possible to load, it would be necessary to drive the beeves eight or ten miles over to the banks of the Medicine Bow River and to hold them there.

Before they reached town, Jack spoke to Mason about the possibility of further trouble with Claib Wood, and Mason declared that, so far as he was concerned, he had got through with Wood, and had absolutely nothing against him.

"Of course," said Mason, "I'll be on the lookout, and if Claib tries any of his tricks on me, I'll have to be just a little bit quicker than he is; but I've no quarrel with Claib, and don't want any."

Soon after they reached town Mr. Sturgis looked up Claib, and had quite a talk with him. He was apparently fully recovered from his injuries, but the weeks that he had spent under a roof had bleached away his outdoor color and he looked pale and thin.

"I tell you, Mr. Sturgis," said Claib, "I've no very good feelings toward Jack Mason, for he picked a quarrel with me, and hurt me just for meanness."

"In one way, I suppose that's true," answered Mr. Sturgis; "but, on the other hand, it's only fair for you to remember that you shot Rufe Mason without any particular provocation or quarrel, and it's natural that Jack should remember what you had done to his brother."

"Well," admitted Claib, "that's so. I never ought to have shot Rufe, and I wouldn't have done it, only I was drunk and quarrelsome. I expect it was natural for Jack Mason to want to get even with me. I've had time during the last two months to do a whole lot of thinking, and I'll say this, that if Jack Mason is willing to wipe it out, I'll say the same and shake hands with him on it."

"I'm mighty glad to hear you say that, Claib," said Mr. Sturgis; "and I'll be glad to see you two shake hands. You're both good men, and I'd be sorry to see either killed. I feel sure that Mason is willing to call it square, if you will. The next time you see Mason, go up to him, man fashion, and tell him how you feel. I'm sure you'll find him ready to make peace."

Early that day people from the neighboring ranches--men, women and children--began to gather for the coming dance, and the town showed unusual excitement. Women, young girls and children passed along the streets, going from one store to another, tasting the delights of the shopping tours that came to them so infrequently. In more than one of the saloons were heard sounds of the fiddles to be played by the musicians for the dance; but the master of ceremonies, dreading lest these musicians should become too tipsy during the day to furnish the music in the evening, had appointed a trustworthy person to go about with each one and see that he did not drink.

Soon after dark, wagons began to drive up to the schoolhouse and to unload their freight of laughing, chattering people, excited by the prospect of the dance; and a little later the frequent pounding of quick galloping hoofs told that the cowboys were gathering. Before long the rail to which the horses were tied was crowded from end to end, while their riders gathered on either side of the door, squatted on the ground and smoked their pipes and cigarettes and discussed the events of the range--the calf crop, the incidents of the round-ups, and the piece of beef.

Presently from within the building came the sound of music, and a number of the men rose to their feet, threw away their cigarettes and, with rasping shaps and clinking spurs, entered the door. In the little anteroom, each man paused to divest himself of spurs, shaps, belt and six-shooter--all these things being tied together and placed in a corner of the room.

In the ballroom the women and children sat on one side and the men, rather shamefacedly, tiptoed over to the other side and seated themselves. The costumes were those of everyday wear, though most of the men were freshly shaven. Some of them wore coats and most of them overalls, often turned up for eight or ten inches, so as to show the trousers beneath. Almost all of them wore the high-heeled cowboy boots of the period, and not one carried a weapon. The women and children were dressed in their best; some of the younger girls wore white, perhaps with a bright ribbon tied about the neck. Eyes shone bright and faces were expectant.

The schoolhouse benches had been moved back close to the wall and the extra ones put out through the windows and piled up outside the building. At the end of the room, on a little platform where commonly the teacher sat, were the musicians. Four oil lamps on the four sides of the room gave abundant light.

Presently Jim Decker, master of ceremonies, walked over the floor holding a candle in one hand and a jack-knife in the other, shaving wax on the floor, and then trying with his foot to rub it into the wood; and at length, when his candle was exhausted and he put his knife in his pocket, a burst of music sounded from the two fiddlers and the clarionet man.

"Take your partners for the quadrille!" Decker shouted in stentorian tones.

A number of men at once crossed over, each bowing low or nodding before the lady of his choice, and asking her to dance; and in a few minutes the room was crowded with promenading couples.

It was only a moment before this that Jack and Donald, having come up from the corral where they had been feeding and watering the stock, had entered the room. Jack had told Donald about Bess Powell, and wanted him to dance with her, but they were too late for the first dance. As they lingered by the door, looking for Mrs. Powell, to whom Donald must be presented, the sets were formed and the dance began. Jim Decker was calling off the figures in a rude rhyme.

"Adams all, swing your Eves,"

was soon followed by the direction,

"Balance to your limberger cheese."

Donald nudged Jack.

"Great, isn't it?" he whispered.

Jack assented by making the Indian sign for "chief," raising the upturned forefinger high above the head and turning it downward.

A few moments later they were speaking with Mrs. Powell.

"Why didn't you get here earlier, so that you could have danced the first quadrille with Bess?" she said to Jack. "She hoped you would ask her."

"Why, Mrs. Powell," he explained, "we were down at the corral feeding and watering and only just got here. Mr. Donald and I both want some dances with Bess."

"She'll be glad to dance," was the response; "but you'll have to wait a while."

The dancers were enjoying themselves greatly. Though the men largely outnumbered the women, there were at first some girls without partners. The novelty of the surroundings struck terror to the hearts of some of the most daring riders and ropers, and kept them glued to their seats. Buck Wilson, Twenty-One Johnson, and Red Casey of the Bar Lazy A, whose feats in broncho busting and roping had made them famous on the range, felt their courage ooze away when it came to facing a girl and asking her to dance. Their bashfulness was added to by the shouts of Jim Decker and other older men, who tried to induce them to pluck up heart and choose partners for the dance.

One by one timid men, who had not yet dared to come into the ballroom, slipped through the door and, apparently trying to make themselves as small as possible, sidled over to seats on the men's side, and sat down to look on.

Most of those who danced did so with real feeling and great spirit. One or two men were extremely expert in cutting pigeonwings, and jumping high in the air; and some of them stamped in time to the music, so that the air was full of dust. Most of the men, however, were extremely quiet. At the end of each dance, the men took the girls to their seats and, leaving them, either retired to their side of the room or slipped out of the door to smoke a cigarette or talk with those who had not yet dared to venture into the room.

About midnight came supper--pies, cakes and lemonade. Before this, Jack had had two dances with Bess and Donald three, and Jack had also succeeded in persuading Mrs. Powell to walk with him through a quadrille.

It was at the dance that Jack Mason and Claib met. Claib had come in while Mason was dancing, and had seated himself to look on. As soon as Mason left his partner, he walked directly over to Claib.

"Well, Claib, how goes it?" he asked cheerily.

"All right now, Jack; and I'd like to shake hands with you, and call bygones bygones."

"That'll suit me to death, Claib," said Mason, giving his former enemy a hearty handshake.

A little later, Mr. Sturgis appeared in the ballroom. He shook hands with Mrs. Powell and Bess and then looked about for the faces of his own outfit. When he saw Mason, he told him that the cars had arrived, and that he wanted all hands down to begin to load by daylight, and asked him to tell the others.

Daylight had come before the dance ended, but when it broke up the Sturgis outfit were down in the loading corrals, hard at work getting the steers into the cars as fast as they could.

And the next morning Jack's heart-strings were stretched when he shook hands with his friends and took the passenger for the Atlantic coast.

THE END

Transcriber's Note:

Small capitals have been rendered in full capitals.

Italics are indicated by _underscores_.

Footnote is placed at the end of chapter.

Apparent typographical errors have been corrected.

On page 44 "Photo." corrected to "Photo"

End of Project Gutenberg's Jack the Young Cowboy, by George Bird Grinnell